A boat with my name on it
by Cunien
Summary: COMPLETED Jack will do anything to get the Jolly Mon in his sweaty little hands...and Anamaria in his bed too, if he can manage it. Improbable, not impossible, says he. I'm not so sure about that, says I.
1. A lonely life at sea

** A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Especially for Sara who suggested I write this one.  
  
Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
  
Mild cock-erney swearing as befits a rapscallion like Jack.  
  
Adult themes, but only suggested and in no way graphic.  
  
Chapters may not come as thick and fast as Ah, the memories!', but I'll do me best!  
  
Chapter 1 - A lonely life at sea.  
  
**The first thing I did when I saw it was say to myself - now that's a boat with my name on it, that is.  
  
'Cept it didn't really have my name on. That would be daft. Who in their right mind would name their boat 'Jack Sparrow'!?!?   
  
But I'm getting ahead of myself. And lying a bit too, because the first thing I did when I saw the boat was laugh.   
  
It really was a very silly little boat.   
  
So I'm sailing into Tortuga, right, happy to be home, and I'm on the look-out, sharp as ever, you know me. And I sees this little boat right, tied up to the jetty in the dock. Tiny little thing it was, with an oversized, self important mast. The boat, by all rights should have been too small to support such a great whopping mast, cos it was just a row boat really - a modified row boat. No room for more than one person.   
  
But it drew my eye, and that's the most important thing, as I shall elaborate later. In great length don't you worry.   
  
Now I pride myself on knowing just about everything there is to know about boats. Big boats or small boats, Men O War or row boats, I know them inside and out.   
Cept on a row boat there isn't really an inside.   
  
But there were ropes and pulleys and all sorts on this boat that even I couldn't place a purpose to.   
In short, it looked rather ridiculous.   
  
There was a young woman sitting cross legged on the dock beside it, busily mending a rip in the sail and humming contentedly to herself. The reason I mention this woman will become evident in time. Remember her right, cos she's important to the tale later on.   
  
When I passed her I chuckled a little, and her head shot up, quick as lighting and glared something evil at me. It only made me laugh harder. Her and her boat, they did make a pretty sight.   
  
Which set me to laughing again.   
  
I'm laughing just to think on it see - trust me, you would too if you could have been there**  
  
**Such a silly little boat. But I liked it.  
  
Now I'd come in on the_ Adventure _right, sailing under old Calico Jack. It wasn't so bad, though I wasn't used to taking orders like that, and it took a while for my pride to settle down enough to follow them I can tell you.  
  
The hearsay was that Calico had a cross dresser sailing under him - you know, a _woman_. Of course I didn't believe it. I thought even Calico Jack wasn't _that_ stupid.  
  
Evidently he was.  
  
There's a reason the Pirate's code says no women on board, take it from me.  
  
Now don't go thinking I'm as thick as two short planks not to notice a woman there swabbing the decks and waying the anchor alongside me. She was clean shaven, obviously, but so are a lot of the young lads who sail on these ships.   
  
And there must have been some serious bondage going on there to get her, well her....assets...out of the way, so to speak.  
  
She was first mate, but after a while this particular first mate begins to get a bit too matey' if you catch my drift.  
  
It began with just a hand lingering there and a brush against me there.  
  
But the morning in question this Andrew' the first mate has got me cornered in one of the holds. Now normally I'm not alone with him, because Calico followed Andrew around like a bleeding puppy dog, and now I know why.  
  
But this time there was no getting away, because he's blocking my way up out. What was I to do? I started to panic because I was getting the   
heebie-jeebies off this one. I could tell there was something not quite right about Andrew, and if my dear old strumpet of a mother ever taught me anything it was that I should trust my intuition.  
  
But in my panic I did the worst thing I could've done - I tried to push past.  
Now this was a Dutch Flute, and they're big hulks of things, but like any ship there isn't room to swing a cat inside is there?  
So me pushing past Andrew only got us stuck for a moment there, me trying to push past and meanwhile in a perfect position to be taken advantage of, savvy?  
  
Before I know it Andrew's mouth is where it shouldn't be, jammed against mine. And his hands are most _definitely _where they shouldn't be.. somewhere that I don't care to mention thankyou very much.  
  
Of course I'm thrown a bit by this, so I jerked back and slammed my head against a beam, which sent me reeling, and the next thing I know I've fallen flat on my back on the floor. Which, again, puts me in a very vulnerable position, and before I can get my head together Andrew's blimming straddled me and there isn't much I can do.  
  
Bloody hell! I said, when Andrew's removed his mouth long enough for me to get any words out.  
  
I think you've got the wrong end of the stick mate!..... I mean if it floats _your _boat..but..but it doesn't float mine eh? Savvy?  
  
Shut up. says Andrew, and he's fiddling with something under his shirt which is worrying me a little. Then he grabs my hand and puts it under his shirt, and of course _then_ I realise that he is actually a _she_.  
  
I said, Well that changes everything, doesn't it?  
  
Now you may be thinking I put myself about a bit, right?   
But I'm a pirate, and this sort of thing is expected of me really. And when I realised that Andrew was actually Anne, and with her hair down and things set loose that should never be restrained, if you catch my meaning, she was a pretty thing indeed.  
  
Besides, it's a lonely life at sea.  
  
I admit it was a bit of a risk to take. If Calico had caught us it wouldn't go too nicely, and after all that Calico had done for me, I did feel bad about it.   
  
Honest.  
For a little while, at least.  
And I really didn't have much choice in the matter.  
  
Of course, Calico Jack being the stupid man that he is took rather a long time to notice. And of course, being the nice man that he is he didn't pitch me overboard, shoot me, hang me from the bowsprit by my own bootstraps or maroon me on some godforsaken island. Nice chap.  
  
Instead he ordered the ship turned around and we headed straight for Tortuga where I was to get off and never see him, or Anne, again.   
  
I didn't complain. I fancied a change of scenery anyway, and I'm quite happy with most of the things that fortune throws my way.   
  
I was a bit miffed all the blame seemed to be heaped on my poor shoulders though. Calico didn't seem the least bit angry with Anne, just me.  
  
I mean, it takes two to dance that particular jig, right?  
  
**TBC.....  
  
A short one this time fraid. More will come as Jack makes it known to me! Shouldn't be too long though, so keep checking! That's if there are any of you still out there, reading this..........ahoy?**


	2. In the market

** A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
**  
Longer chapter here - we'll see a lot more of Anamaria in the next though.  
  
By the way, this is sequel-ish to Ah, the memories!'. You don't _have_ to read that fic first, I mean, I won't force you or anything, but to increase reader satisfaction I recommend that you do.  
**  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
  
Mild cock-erney swearing as befits a scamp like Jack, bless his little cotton socks.  
  
Chapter 2 - In the market.  
  
**So I explained how I came to be in Tortuga right?  
  
Ok, so as soon as Calico's men had removed' me from the little skiff and deposited me on the dock they starter rowing back and left me on me onesy.   
  
Well, there are worse places to be marooned than Tortuga.  
  
I picked myself up and dusted myself off. Calico hadn't come to bid me   
fare-thee-well personally, but I could see him, standing on the deck of the _Adventure._  
  
I could practically see his glare from where I stood, even though he was but a tiny black figure on an off-shore ship.  
  
I gave him a little salute and turned my back on him.  
  
Tortuga is a wonderful place.  
Ever been there? It's great. It's my home, it really is. Or a second home at least, after the _Pearl_.  
  
It's like the horn of plenty, or whatever it's called - there's something for everyone there. So long as your tastes run along the lines of women, rum, good company and the occasional brawl to round the evening off.  
  
It's great, is Tortuga.  
  
A nice little island, not too big, not too small, nestled safely with the massive bulk of Hispaniola between you and Port Royal.   
Lovely.   
  
Now some say Saona or the other smuggler's isles are just as good, but Tortuga was the mother that gave birth to all the best pirates in the Spanish Main, and for that I'll drink to her.  
  
A little stream runs through the main town, cutting it neatly in two, and it was on the west side, called Courtesan's Bank that I went that morning. It's the best place - has all the best women, rum, company and brawls on the island.  
  
I was at the door of the Angel tavern, about to go in, when I remembered Giselle. I wasn't sure if she knew about Scarlet, but I didn't fancy risking it to be honest. These strumpets can be vicious if the whim takes them.  
  
So I headed down a little bit to Bradey's Tavern. Except then I remembered Scarlet, and I wasn't sure ifshe knew about _Giselle_. But again, I didn't really fancy my chances on that account.  
  
So where else was there to go?  
  
Well it was early in the day and I had no particular sorrows to drown, so I turned on my heel and headed back to the dock. As much as I loved Tortuga, a man's got to make his living- after a while I begin to get the wanderlust creeping into my feet don't I, and anyone knows that the best place to find work, or better, adventures (cos me I don't do work so well) is either the dock or the tavern.  
  
The tavern could wait, so as I said, I moseyed down to the dock to have a little look-see. There was bound to be one of my acquaintances rattling about there somewhere, so I could catch up and see what all the gossip was. Along with the tavern, the dock is always a good place to do business, and there are often people hanging about looking for a suitable captain and ship to take them off on some fool's errand, which is most likely to leave the fool dead and the captain rich.  
  
There was one snag, and I'm sure you've spotted it, haven't you?  
  
At this point in time I was _sans _ship.  
  
Anyway, an observant fellow like you or me will tell you straight off that a dock is often the best place to find a boat, so there was another reason to head there.  
  
On the way to the dock though, I'm walking past this big thicket of bushes when I hear this groan. I stick my head in and there's this heap of a man lying there, dead to the world. But the best part is that he's clutching a half full bottle of rum _and _ dead to the world.  
  
I'm an optimist me - the bottle is _always _half full, and never half empty. Especially when it's a bottle of rum.  
  
Well of course I relieved him of the drink, and felt very happy indeed that I'd chosen to head for the dock and it's free rum instead of the tavern and it's rum of the paying for variety.  
  
So there I am, strolling down to the sea, home again, with a half bottle of rum. The sun is shining, and I've got my hat so I don't mind it at all. There's a nice stiff breeze to blow away the cobwebs. As far as I can see there are no donkeys within sight and I'm _happy.   
_I'm grinning to myself and humming a little ditty, you know the one that goes hey-ho we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing na na na-na-naaaaa!' right? I love that song.  
  
Anyway, I took a swig from the bottle and grinned real big, thinking about the adventures to come as soon as I've got myself a boat of some kind.  
  
Now being a pirate isn't like being a blacksmith or a doctor or something. You can never _stop_ being a pirate. You live eat drink sleep talk walk pirate.  
A lot of people enter this honourable profession for the gold, the rum, the women, but any _real_ pirate will tell you those are just bonuses.  
  
It's really about the wind.   
About the salt spray whipping your face till it hurts and the rope burning your hands raw.   
About having a boat and knowing she's yours and you could sail _anywhere_ on her. It's when you can _feel_ the wind ballooning in the sails and pushing you along at dizzying speeds.  
  
See, I'm getting all sentimental now, aren't I? You'll find that sailing is about the only thing I do get mawkish about.  
And I suppose now you understand my thing about the _Black Pearl _ right? And why for ten years I carried that one shot in my pistol for one man alone.  
  
But until I got the _Pearl _ back under me, after all those years of abuse from that bilge rat Barbossa, any boat would do really. Anything with a sail and a rudder, that'll do me fine.  
  
Now for understandable reasons really, Calico never gave me my last pay, but there's not much you need to spend your gold on on a boat. The only time you ever really exchange money is in a friendly game of cards with the crew.  
And I was good at cards.  
  
Well, good at cheating anyway....and don't look at me like that - everyone was cheating. I was just better at it than them.  
  
So I'd saved up all my pay and winnings, and I could feel the comforting, and I admit, rather rare feeling of the coins jingling in my pocket.  
  
At the dock, I found my man straight away - Taffy.  
  
Taffy was a welshman.  
  
A small, shifty man - the runt of the pack you could tell. He was of indeterminable age - his hair was beginning to grey and there seemed to be less of it each day, but that wasn't much of an indication. He was the kind of man who begins to lose his hair at the age of 6.  
  
Taffy had been an unsuccessful highway-man back in Wales, occasionally robbing the mail carriage, or attempting too at least, until he put the Old World to his rudder and came to seek his fortune in the Caribbean.   
  
But he was an enterprising fellow, always had something to sell you whether you liked it or not, and although he played on my nerves, he was undoubtedly a useful friend. He wasn't that bad a man, just clever enough to set up his business selling everything under the sun, but stupid enough to get haggled down to ridiculously low prices if you knew the way to go.  
  
Now Taffy had always been rather afraid of me - I think he thought I may have permanent cabin fever or something. But I soon discovered this worked in my favour see.  
  
Because all you really had to do was make Taffy afraid of you, and he'd sell you his own mother for half a guinea.  
  
But I didn't want old Mother Taffy - I wanted a boat.  
  
I bellowed.  
  
The poor man jumped a mile in the air.  
Ah-haa ha! he laughed, nervous like.  
  
I thought you'd been mar- ...... I mean, I didn't expect to see you, Jack.  
  
Yes, no doubt you'd heard of my spot of bad luck concerning the _Pearl _?  
  
Ah ye...yes. he nodded. His discomfort made me pity the poor blighter.  
Only it was very funny.  
  
Well, I'm in the market aint I.  
  
You are? asked Taffy, confused.  
  
Yes. For a boat. I leaned forward so that my face was just inches from his and whispered, Desperate measures see? No sea turtles around.  
  
When I got off the island that scabrous seadog Barbossa made me Governor of, I found there to be rather a lot of tales doing the rounds about my hi-jinks and my miraculous escape. The sea turtle one seemed to be the most widely known, though it wasn't the most ridiculous by a long shot.   
  
The most ridiculous involved the ingenious use of 6 monkeys, a seahorse, my hat, a coconut, and a short length of string.  
  
But I won't go into that one right now.  
  
Well, I didn't know if our friend Taffy had heard tell of my sea turtle roping skills, but even if he hadn't, the comment sounded crazy enough to confirm his suspicions about my sanity.   
  
Which could only work in my favour as he'd likely sell me the fastest boat for a very small amount of gold just to get me the hell away from him.  
  
So Taffy scurried down the dock, and I followed along, occasionally treading on the back of his heels, because it annoyed him and amused me.  
  
The little welshman stopped a little way down the wooden jetty and gestured at the dock and the boats moored there.  
  
This is all I have. he said  
  
They were a sorry sight, these boats - little leaky, rotten row boats and nothing more.  
I quirked an eyebrow questioningly at Taffy, who grinned and nodded at me in encouragement.   
  
"This all you have?" I asked   
  
Taffy's grin slipped, just momentarily.  
  
Uh..yes, yes this is all I have.  
  
He wasn't the sharpest nail in the box, I think you can tell.   
  
I leaned against a mooring post and pretended to deliberate. I ummed and aahhed, watching Taffy's grin fade, and then once it had disappeared entirely I pointed down the dock and said I want that one.  
  
_That _one? Taffy asked.  
  
No, that one there. I said indicating the skeleton of a little boat half sunk in sand in a cove across the way.  
  
Obviously Taffy didn't understand sarcasm.  
  
Taffy, yes, I want _that _one.  
  
No no no my friend. That one's not mine - that one belongs to _her_. said Taffy, pointing at the woman sitting beside it, still busily mending the sail.  
Please, why don't you think about it, choose another.  
  
I said, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. Nope. I still want _that_ one.  
  
So Taffy sighed and trudged along the dock to the boat in question, looking as though he had been sent to the gallows. He muttered and swore in welsh under his breath.  
  
I leaned against the post again and half closed my eyes, watching Taffy under my lashes like.  
  
Now he's too far away for me to hear what he says to the girl, but I see his mouth moving, and the flash of anger on her face.  
  
The next thing I know there's a splash, and Taffy seems to have disappeared. Instead there's this great thrashing ripple in the water, and after a second his little balding head is gulping away for air and he's struggling to stay afloat.  
  
So I mosey down to the girl, and I'm about to say something witty, you know, win her over with my charming charm, but before I can open my mouth to speak there's this little hand on my chest, pushing me backwards.  
  
My arms started windmilling, trying to find purchase on something, anything, but there's nothing to hold on to but the girl. I made a grab for her but she danced out of the way with a very un-ladylike grin, and the next thing I know I've joined Taffy for a little swim!  
  
You can take that as a NO! she yelled at me.  
  
And she threw the mended sail in her silly little boat, un-tied the mooring rope, grabbed the oars and rowed over to another part of the dock, about as far away from me as she can get.  
  
So I'm there treading water, and I can't help but smile really, because it was rather funny.  
  
A silly girl and her very silly little boat.  
  
**TBC......  
  
Sorry, this one was a bit rushed towards the end so please excuse any mistakes.  
  
(Jack's little ditty, if you noticed, is from the wealth of pirate knowledge that is The Muppets Treasure Island', for the simple reason that I like it!)  
  
Right, thanks to reviewers!   
  
jennagemini **- Thankyou! Mine is the first fic you ever reviewed? That is so nice - thankyou!  
**  
cal - **hehe - Jack keeps his own hours I'm afraid, and they're strange ones at that! But I'm afraid there may not be all that much romance in this particular fic - I'm not much good at writing it, but it really depends on what Jack says. Though whether you can _trust_ what he says is another matter entirely! I like Anamaria/Jack though, it seems really believable. Am I the only one who thought that Anamaria's The Black Pearl is yours Captain. (or something along those lines) wasn't only referring to the ship??? I fully expected them to kiss or at least make come to bed eyes at each other after that line. But alas, twas not to be. And I suppose it's better that they left it open.   
  
**Rat -** Thankyou! I was a bit worried about pressure after Ah, the memories'. I was quite happy with that one and I didn't want to ruin it with this! I'm glad it's like Jack's telling you the tale in the pub - a few people have said that, and that's what it's like for me writing it too!  
  
**Amananduniel Black - **Aye-aye cap'n!


	3. Jolly Things

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Ahoy?......... well it seems most of yous have mutinied and deserted this here fic and left it on it's onesey! Never mind, I still have my faithful bosun Cal - are you alright with being bosun? You could be cabin boy or ship's cook or doctor? First Mate is Sara, but she aint nowhere to be found - must have toddled off in one of the Jolly boats.....*sigh*  
  
Ooh, but random confessions of love, ala Hellyn are welcome! **  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
  
He's a gentleman of fortune and that's what he's proud to be, and when you're a professional pirate you can swear in cockerney!........... ..............  
Sorry.   
I've been watching Muppet's Treasure Island and the songs have gone to my head. What I meant to say was - Warning: here be mild swearing.  
  
I've also just finished reading the _real_ Treasure Island, and I seem to have borrowed a few of Long John Silver's and you may lay to thats for Jack to say. Don't you just love pirate speak?!?  
  
Anyway, on with the tale - Jack's banging his glass on the bar because he thinks you aint listening.  
  
Chapter 3 - Jolly things.  
  
**So I find myself treading water, and even that can't crush my indomitable spirit right then. The water was warm and to be honest, I needed a bit of a wash - I was beginning to develop a rather interesting smell.  
  
Well Taffy's splashing and wriggling around next to me like a fish on a line. He sloshed himself over to me, half drowning in his panic and grabbed hold of me.   
  
He proceeded to do that stupid thing stupid people do when they're too stupid to have learnt to swim (which is even more stupid when you consider he lives in the Caribbean, which is mostly water by all accounts) and pushed down on me to try and get his head above water.   
  
This, of course, only nearly drowned me, so once I'd gotten free of him and managed to swim away a little, it took a hell of a lot of goodness in my heart to swim back and help him.  
  
Taffy was in too much of a panic to master himself and be of much use in the situation, so with me pushing underneath him and him half-heartedly trying to pull himself up I finally managed to get him on to the jetty. He lay in a spreading puddle on the scorching wooden dock and babbled to himself what I took to be a prayer.  
  
Not that I'd know what a prayer sounds like. Honest.  
  
I joined him on the jetty and fished out my hat, which was dancing merrily on the little swell coming in from the open sea. I took off my coat and sat there to let the sun dry me a little, and all the while, even after my near death experience with Taffy I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.  
  
I was sitting there scheming, thinking of all the ways Taffy and I could get that boat.  
  
My little heart was bent on it now, and when my heart gets a hold of something it won't let it go without a fight I can tell you.  
  
From my vantage point in the water I had managed to get a really good gander at the boat as the girl rowed it past. I had to dodge out of the way of the oars a few times though, and I'm quite sure the girl was purposefully trying to hit me with them, but that's beside the point.  
  
The _Jolly Mon_.   
That was her name, burned into the side with great care. The fact that it had been burnt in by using a piece of glass and the sun's rays instead of painted on endeared it even more to me.  
  
I liked the name.   
The _Jolly Mon_. Nice isn't it?  
I like jolly things.  
  
It reminded me of a girl who once had the pleasure of knowing me, called Monique. She was a stroppy little french tart, not jolly at all. All the same the name struck a cord if only for it's irony.  
  
I wanted that boat.  
I _needed_ that boat.  
  
I sat there, drying off in the sun beside Taffy, who I think had passed out at this point, and made grand plans for my future with the _Jolly Mon._   
  
I'd sail her to Port Royal, and then find myself a big ship. I'd keep the _Mon_ though, as a jolly boat or some such, I was that fond of her by then. And then we'd sail the ocean blue, with her beside me all the way, my ever faithful _Jolly Mon.  
  
_Yes, I intended on headed back to Port Royal, the place I hate most in this world.   
  
Well you know me, and you'll know I can't stay still for long before my feet start to itch again and I'm off wherever the wind may take me. So why, then, would I be so eager to head back to Port Royal, a place that makes me break out in a rash just to be there? A big, puss oozing crusty boils rash?  
  
Well I'll tell you.  
Like I said, I needed a ship. Not a boat, a _ship.  
_Now there was a time when Tortuga's port was full to the gunnels with the finest ships on the ocean. Big Spanish galleons, frigates, Dutch flutes and pilfered naval sloops.  
  
But looking about me that day, there was but one ship in the harbour. Plenty of bleeding row boats, a skiff or two, and one tatty old sloop named the _Jemima_, who was, quite frankly, past her best. And I can't imagine her best was all that good neither.  
  
Why was I presented with such a sorry sight, you ask?  
  
Well, it's been a hard few years for gentlemen of fortune like myself, and you may lay to that.  
  
Morality and goodness is spreading across the Caribbean like a plague. And the canker at it's centre is....bleeding Port Royal.  
  
Marines swarm there from the Old world, and now there's hardly an island in the Spanish Main where you won't find a hive of them, infesting these clear blue waters and golden sands with their horrible _ethics.  
  
_So, most men have turned _Privateer_.  
Dear Lord, I hate them bleeding Privateers. About as much as Marines and donkeys. And row boats.  
  
They've as good as turned Turk aint they? I mean, all they are is Pirates like the rest of us, except they have a fancy high-to-do letter of the marque' - a Royal excuse to be what they are anyway.  
  
Well, excuse me, but Jack Sparrow doesn't need King Georgie's permission to do what he was born to do.  
  
And you want to know what really gets up my nose?  
That there letter from the King says go ahead, it's fine to rape, plunder, pillage and pilfer - as long as you're doing it to the Spanish.  
  
Now I've been about a bit me, seen the world. I stake my hat that I've seen one of every nationality you care to mention. And do you know what I've found?  
  
All men are the same.  
Yep, they really are - the same base, greed-fuelled animals. You, me, the bleeding King of England. Be they black, white, yellow or blue, every jack-lad of them's only out for number one. Every man for himself.  
Or woman, as the case may be.  
  
So I don't hold much with the privateer's code of let's kick Johnny-foreigners arse' .  
  
Don't get me wrong - if the Spanish feel like coming round and knocking on old Mother England's door then I'm all for showing them what we Brits are made of (and I don't mean that literally).  
I just don't like this license to annoy our enemies thing'.  
  
It can't be said that any gentleman of fortune is an upstanding citizen, but believe it or not, I do have morals. They may not lie with those of the Crown and the Marines, but they're morals none the less. And if there's something that can be said of Captain Jack Sparrow it's that when he plunders, he plunders indiscriminately, regardless of nationality or ethnic origin.  
  
Besides, what's the point of being a scallywag and a rogue if you're allowed too? If it's, God forbid, _legal _?  
  
I also don't hold with this sharing half the plunder with the crown neither.  
  
Are you still there?   
  
It looked like you'd drifted off for a minute. I've got a lot more tale to tell, but don't worry - it gets more exciting later on. I'm just trying to give you a little insight into my way of thinking see? Just so you know where I'm coming from A little trip into old Jack's head - it's a lovely place innit?. Bear with me.  
  
And pour me another rum while we've paused for a breath luv - that's it, now don't be stingy, I won't say when' so fill it to the top - cheers me dears.   
Now where was I?  
  
Ah yes, explaining my reasons for returning to Port Royal, heaven on bleeding earth.  
  
So all the best ships were in Port Royal, captained by Privateers and paid for by the crown.   
  
Oh, I'd have no remorse about confiscating' one of them lovelies and putting it to better use, you may mark my words.  
  
While I sat there planning out my grand designs the sun was sinking low into the sea and the hurly-burly at the dock was beginning to dwindle. Still I sat there, because to be honest I had nowhere better to be.  
  
After and hour though, I started to think about rum.  
I got to my feet and let them carry me where they would, and sure enough they took me to the door of an inn.  
  
But my feet must have some brains, because they didn't take me to any of the inn's where the Giselle's and Scarlet's and other strumpets awaited me with murderous intent and one hell of a right hook.  
  
So I looks up at the sign board swinging above the door and read the name The Bay Inn' - un-imaginative, but written with the loving pride of someone who'd only just learnt their letters and would make use of them at every opportunity.  
  
This was one of the few taverns on Courtesan Bank where I hadn't offended anyone. Well not yet anyway.  
So congratulating my clever feet I strode through the door and headed straight for the bar.  
  
A large quantity of rum and an equally large amount of money later and I was propping up the bar, telling everyone who would listen about my boat the _Jolly Mon_ and all the adventures we'd had together. The barman was looking at me with something like pity in his eyes, but I didn't care so long as he filled up my glass when I told him to.   
  
But I still had enough wits about me to shut up like a clam when I saw this familiar figure walk through the door.   
  
She obviously didn't see me gawping like a fish, and walked over to stand right next to me at the bar.  
  
The usual eh, Anamaria? the barman asked.   
She grunted and sat down beside me, reaching into some pocket to pay for the drink. Before she could withdraw any money though, I'd slapped a few coins down on the bar and said This one's on me, eh sweetheart?  
  
I gave her one of my winning smiles, hoping to dazzle her with my charm and gold teeth, but alas no. She glared at me again.   
If there's something to be said for Anamaria it's that she's a first class at distilling all the hatred and loathing in the world into one look.  
  
My smile withered under it's intensity.  
  
So she looks at me and says I don't need anyone to pay for my drinks. but I could tell what she really meant to say was You are a puny man and I crush you beneath the heel of my boot.  
  
To be sure. I said, but I didn't take back the money and Anamaria made no move to replace it with her own. After a few minutes the barman, looking very confused, made a grab for the coins, put them in his pocket and made good his escape before we could change our minds.  
  
Now I'm a patient man. When something's worth having it's worth waiting for.  
  
And the _Jolly Mon_ was worth having.  
So I sat there all night and barely said a word. I tried to strike up a conversation once or twice, but Anamaria would just stare coldly at me until the words dwindled into nothing and I hid behind another swig of rum.  
  
Now before I go any further I'd just like to make it clear that I had quite a head-start on Anamaria where alcohol consumption is concerned. By the time she walked in the tavern I was already far gone.  
  
So when she finished her drink, she looked pointedly at me, and I took out some more coins and bade the barman fill both our glasses once more.  
  
This happened too many times to count.  
To be honest by the end of it I was in no state to even remember my name, let alone my numbers. Every time I looked down the amount of empty glasses and bottles on the bar seemed to have doubled. I was quite sure they were breeding and multiplying while my back was turned.  
  
Anamaria on the other hand seemed as right as rain, and the thought crossed my mind at one point that she was doing this on purpose, you know, getting me absolutely merry with rum by making me order all those drinks. Well it would have been unsociable for me to have had her glass refilled and not have ordered any more for myself wouldn't it?  
  
I must have passed out sometime around midnight.  
  
I vaguely recall a flash of pain as I fell face first into the empty bottles and glasses that littered the bar.   
But I don't remember anything after that.  
  
**TBC....  
  
Well Jack told me there'd be a lot more Anamaria in this one, but there isn't. Oh well, he's not exactly a very reliable source is he, even on his own story.   
  
I promise there will be large quantities of our favourite lady pirate later one.   
  
Sorry the chapters a bit boring - just needed to sort some things out - give you an insight into Jack's head, like he said, so that you'll fully comprehend his hankering for the _Jolly Mon_. Excitement later. I think.  
  
Thankyou to everyone who reviewed after I'd begun writing the beginning of the story where I'd gotten all sad and lonesome! Cheers me dears!x.x.x**


	4. Tortuga in the morning

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
**  
**Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a cad like Jack Sparrow.   
  
Chapter 4 - Tortuga in the morning.  
  
**So I wake up right, sometime in the morning.   
I can only guess that it's the morning _after_ the night where I had an impromptu drinking contest with the lovely Anamaria, but for all I know I could have been lying there dead to the world for days. Certainly felt like it.  
  
That's the thing about Tortuga - practically every building on the island is a pub, and even if it isn't there will always be people and rum there, so it's the same thing really. And the taverns never close neither, so there's no danger of being thrown out in the early hours when you've begun to stick to the bar with your own drool.  
  
But the only thing is that being lobbed out of a tavern door and being too drunk to roll when you hit the ground outside is always great for sobering a man up. So at least you never find yourself wondering how many days you've been unconscious for.  
  
My face hurt like bleeding hell.   
  
Like I said, I'd fallen rather heavily on the bar when the drink finally took me, and got a face full of glass.   
Not nice I can tell you. I'd mostly avoided and real damage, just a few cuts and scrapes here and there. I pulled a few shards out of my beard and looked around.  
  
There was one man still sitting upright, but as I watched he gave a massive burp and slumped sideways, disappearing under the table.  
Over in the corner a man lay face-down on the ground, but I could hear a muffled old sea- song coming from that direction, so at least he was semi-conscious.  
  
You should see Tortuga in the morning, it's one of the wonders of the world I can tell you. There are bodies everywhere in all sorts of amusing positions, a few people still drinking, bu they're the heavy-weights they are.   
And a heavy-weight Pirate, us being people who's job largely involves drinking rum like it's water, are something else.  
  
Well there was no sign of Anamaria anywhere, and as I was an early bird, I decided to head down to the docks again.  
  
Now my boat buying funds were slowly depleting, what with all the rum and such like, so now it was important I worked my magic with Anamaria and got her to sell me the _Jolly Mon_ for not too much gold at all.   
  
My main problem was that I hadn't had that much gold to begin with - but that was only a problem if you let it be one.  
  
Down at the port I sought out Taffy. He squeaked and tried to hide behind a mooring post when he saw me.  
  
I said.  
Jack Jack!hehe..... he laughed feebly, I have more boats for you, I do.  
  
He gestured at the water beside him. Yes, he had more boats, and although they were considerable improvements on yesterday's, being that they did not _all_ contain a foot of water at the bottom of the boat thrown in for free, they were still useless. And they were still all row boats.  
  
I sighed.  
Now, I don't think I flatter myself when I say that I am quite well endowed in the bicep area. But there is not a chance that I could row all the way from Tortuga to Jamaica. Not a chance in bleeding hell.  
  
But even if I _could_, and providing I didn't starve before I got there, there are a multitude of little row boats milling about Port Royal harbour, going about the business that little row boat owners have.... I can't imagine what they might be and I'm not sure I'd like to know.  
  
But the point it that _no one is_ going to notice another little row boat sailing in. Now, I'm not vain, but piracy is all about images, entrances, reputations. Good or bad, at least they know your name.   
  
Piracy is 10% inspiration and 10% perspiration.   
But 80% _reputation_.  
  
And people remember see? They'll remember a man who sails in on the most ridiculously small sailing boat ever to put to sea. They'll remember a man who sails in on the _Jolly Mon.  
  
_I shook my head at Taffy, and put my arm around his shoulders. He looked like he might have a heart attack being this close to me.  
  
I need you to help me, Taffy. You're the man for the job and no mistake. It's you an' me, eh? You and me, against _her_, and the prize is that boat. I said, pointing with the hand resting on his shoulder.   
  
He looked at my finger, right beside his face, with wide-eyed terror. I nodded encouragingly, and he followed my gaze to the boat in question. Sure enough, Anamaria sat beside it, cleaning the rigging and still patching up the sails.  
  
he whimpered, but I smiled a toothy grin at him and gave him no lee -way to object any further.  
  
I sent Taffy to scurry off and try and find out as much as he could about Anamaria - know thy enemy and all that.  
  
Meanwhile, I go over to see her right, as I don't think we've gotten off to a very good start.  
  
When I came up to her, she stood up warily and made to shove me into the water again, but I was ready for her this time weren't I? I danced out of the way and leaned against a mooring post, making sure to subtly get a good hold of it in case she decided to see me swimming again.  
  
She sat down with a suspicious glance, and went about picking the tar from the rigging as though I wasn't even there.  
  
I feel we didn't get off to too good a start, did we, eh luv? The name's Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
Captain? But without a ship. she said, without even looking up. How does that work?  
  
I noticed then that she really was a very pretty thing. Scary, but pretty - all dark and slightly crazy. That's how I like them, given a choice. I wouldn't mind getting her into my bed before I got her boat. Except, of course, I don't actually have a bed per say. Not even a hammock at this point in time. But I'm sure we could find somewhere convenient.  
  
Well Ana, I'll call you Ana...   
I trailed off at the look of pure evil she shot me.   
-maria, Ana_maria_. _Miss_ Anamaria. I backtracked.  
  
Yes, I'm in the market at the moment, you know, looking for a boat.  
  
Silence.   
  
And um, well that's a very pretty boat you have there.  
  
Her head was down in concentration while she worked. I could see she was trying to ignore me altogether, but a dark frown creased her brow as I said this.  
  
So I won't beat about the bush darling - how much would you want old Jack to part with? For...for your boat?  
  
She looked up at me then, a cool look on her face, and I noticed it must have taken a hell of a lot of effort to restrain her fiery temper and look as though she really didn't give a damn.  
  
It's not for sale. Not for all the rum in the Caribbean.  
  
My eyes widened at this - that's a _lot_ of rum.  
  
I jingled my pockets, making the gold clink around.  
  
I can pay well.  
  
Nope. No deal. I will not sell this boat.  
  
But I want it so much! I resorted to pleading, And I have an awful lot of gold in these here pockets.  
  
I doubt that. she said drily. I will _never_ sell you this boat.   
  
Er... right, well I see you need time to think on this one, so I'll be back later eh?   
  
But it was pretty obvious what I was thinking - that if she wouldn't sell it then I'd take it anyway.  
  
She went back to her work without a word. I, stupidly, hung around waiting for some acknowledgement.  
  
Are you still here? she asked after a few minutes of silence. She didn't even look up.  
  
No, no I'm gone. I left 5 minutes ago. I said, scurrying away.  
  
Now don't be thinking Jack Sparrow is afraid of a little girl. Because _this_ girl was not little, and she was quite scary.   
  
But I couldn't help wondering what she would look like asleep next to me, the bright morning light streaming through the windows onto her face...because in my dream world I have a house with a bed and real glass windows and everything.   
  
I gave her a few hours while I had a little mooch around Tortuga, seeing what was new, catching up on some of my old acquaintances and seeing if any of them were willing to share a drink with an old friend. Providing they were paying of course.  
  
I did manage to find one or two who owed me, and so when I made my way back to the dock it was with a bit of a stagger and a hiccup.  
  
Anamaria was still there, working on fixing up her boat. I felt a little pang of anxiety then, because she obviously loved this boat as much as I did, and therefore wouldn't part with it without some very expensive persuasion. I could of course, borrow it without permission, but I'd still feel a little guilty about lifting a boat from someone who I knew looked after it and really loved it.  
  
A little guilty, anyway.   
Perhaps.  
  
Walking up to the _Jolly Mon_, I instantly noticed something was missing. From a distance, the shape of the boat just looked wrong. When I stopped beside Anamaria with a little stagger, I realised the rudder was gone.  
  
Wassa...was..._where_...where's the rudder gone? I ask, trying to get my tongue under control because it feels like a dead weight.  
  
I don't know, where might it be? Anamaria asks, grinning an evil grin at me.  
  
So I stumble over to the stern of the boat and take a closer look, and I'm bending down, wobbling around so much that I nearly fall headfirst into the water, this time without Anamaria's help.  
  
Isss definitely gone....  
  
I straightened up, gasping in shock, and turned to her.  
I couldn't _believe _she'd be so devious.  
It seemed like something _I'd_ do, not a lady like her!  
  
You took it! I gasped, You hid it somewhere!  
  
I have no idea what you're talking about. she said innocently, glancing cooly at my accusatory finger pointed at her. She batted it out of the way casually. Now, I'm just a girl, but it strikes me that you wouldn't be able to sail this boat without a rudder - am I right?   
  
I said, fuming with rage.  
  
I composed myself a little more, and said Well! I'm jussst a pirate captain, but it strikes me that you would be able to _row_ this boat without a rudder - am I right?, before turning on my heel and walking away.   
Well, I tried to turn on my heel but spun a bit too far and ended up almost wobbling off the jetty.  
  
**TBC....  
  
Ahh, feel more in the flow of things now.   
Also just heard that the PotC DVD is out on December the 2nd with deleted scenes, 3 commentaries and bloopers. Wondrous praise and jubilation! That deserve a Huzzah!'**


	5. Private Investigations

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
**  
**Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a buccaneer like Jack Sparrow.   
  
Taffy's dialogue is meant to be like that, very bad english mixed with stereotypical gog' welsh. They're not typing errors. Believe me, I know a few people who do speak like this.   
  
As a bribe to readers - regular reviewers will receive a place in Captain Cunien's crew - we have First-matey Sara and Faithful Bosun Cal. Rat's always been loyal, with me since Ah, the memories!' -would you like to be Loyal Quartermaster? Ship's cook? Doctor? Cabin boy!? Actually maybe we could have Tell-tale from Ah, the memories' as cabin boy. Me might have to de-louse him first though.  
  
P.S - I had no time to read over this, so please forgive any embarrassing and obvious mistakes. Thanks!  
  
Chapter 5 - Private investigations.  
  
**I tried to get rooms in one of the taverns that night, but I was so drunk I don't think the owner could understand what I was saying. So I slept outside in a bush.   
  
Didn't bother me - I've slept in all kinds of strange places in my time - I can drop off anywhere, believe me. Hanging from the rigging back in my cabin-boy days, that had to be one of the most unconventional.  
  
I woke up in the morning with a bit of a headache, which was surprising. Despite the amount I drink, I don't really do hangovers. I suppose I've built up a resistance or some such.  
  
Anyway, my first port of call was Taffy. I went to the docks but he was nowhere to be found. Some gentle prodding of the usual lay-abouts laying about the dock told me that he hadn't been seen since yesterday, and that he had rooms in a house in one of the back streets. As most of Tortuga is made up of back streets, it took me a while to find this particular one.  
  
Taffy's house was a crumbling brown building in a row that overhung the alleyway, almost meeting the buildings sloping from the the other side of the street. It was dark and musty there, and the buildings towering over you from either side almost met in the middle to form a dark, putrid cave. The street was upriver a little, and I had to cross a mouldy little bridge, which nearly crumbled beneath me.  
  
By the time I'd side-stepped all the obstacles I began to get the faint impression that they were booby traps of sort. That Taffy had deliberately chosen this horrible smelly bit of town to live in so that his many enemies couldn't get to him. Even if they made it past the crumbling bridge, the swamp like road and the rabid dogs and children, the stink of the place would probably knock them out.  
  
Lucky for me I seem to have developed an immunity to reeking smells, probably because I've spent most of my life developing the more pungent ones.  
  
When I tried to knock on the door, you know, trying to be polite like, which isn't something I can often be accused of, my fist made a hole in the door.  
Fair enough.  
I tried to open it then, but the whole blimming thing came away in my hand.  
  
I put the door out in the street and walked through, which led me in to an alleyway of sorts. I walked up the stairs, though hauling myself up would probably be more accurate because most of the rotting steps were broken away. I couldn't guess how Taffy managed to get up them. I mean, he's no spring chicken, and he isn't the slimmest of men. There might be muscles under the fat there somewhere, but he's doing a damn good job of hiding them.  
  
Up the winding ladder-like stairs there's this other door, half open. Inside is a one little room. In the corner there's a stove and the other corner a bed, and not much more.   
  
So Taffy's there, bending over a pot bubbling on the stove and screeching a welsh hymn to himself.  
  
I crossed the room and sat down on the bed without Taffy even realising I was there.  
  
He poured the bubbling substance from the pot into a grubby looking bowl. He turned around, his song reaching a horrible wavering crescendo with -_Calon LAAAAAANNNN yn llawn daioniiiiiiiii, tecach ywww_AAAAHH! he screamed as he saw me and spilt the contents of the bowl down his front.  
  
He then spent a few minutes hopping around and swiping at the scalding mess. I didn't feel guilty. If his paunch wasn't quite so impressive then the spilt liquid would have missed him altogether.  
  
I sat back on the bed and smiled my best lazy shark smile at him while he got himself under control and refilled the bowl from the pot on the stove.  
  
He crossed to me and shoved the bowl under my nose. Dyma ti! Taffy's Mam's recipe - Welsh delicacy! he giggled nervously. Honestly it was painful to watch.  
  
I looked down at the bowl - it was full of a watery brown liquid, unidentifiable chunks, perhaps vegetation of some kind, and a gristly meat that looked as though it had only recently been taken from it's previous owner, and might have been dog if I'd though he could have afforded it. The smell forced me to swallow down a heave. I've seen some horrifying things in my time, but this had to be one of the worst.  
  
he said, Tis very gwd.  
  
Hmm. I'll politely decline.  
  
Taffy's face fell. He looked at me questioningly, as though to ask permission to eat the horrible broth himself. I nodded regally and he sat on the floor, making short work of the cawl.  
  
Once he's finished he looked at me expectantly, and I tried to ignore the bits of meat stuck in his yellow teeth.  
  
So. Anamaria. What do you have for me? I asked.  
  
O dim llawer, dim llawer rwan. She keeps to herself does that one....but I did tail her to found out where she is living.  
  
Taffy, you are a star. So?  
  
The Devil's Beeftub inn - Corsair street. Tis on Courtesan Bank.  
  
Taffy, I could kiss you! I cried, leaping up. He scuttled away, a look of terror on his face, because a kiss from a shark is not something to be encouraged. Besides, kissing Taffy, by the look of it, would help you along the way to contracting most of the diseases known to man, and a few known to sheep.  
  
Once I'd negotiated the stairs outside, and the rotten bridge over the stream, where I nearly broke my leg, I went straight to the Devil's Beeftub inn. The place was packed, as most of the taverns are at all times of the day in Tortuga. I wandered in, cool as you please, and ordered a rum. Once I'd had a few, I managed to get lost amongst the drunken throng, and snuck upstairs.  
  
The second floor was totally different to the bar downstairs. The walls were freshly whitewashed and large windows along the corridor let the light stream in.   
On a ship, keeping things tidy and orderly is a matter of life and death. But in a room it's not of such dire importance.  
This place was a nice - modest, but clean and neat and tidy.   
I'm all for clean and neat and tidy, as long as it's not me who has to keep it that way. And at least on a ship you have a cabin boy to foist all the horrible jobs onto.  
  
The problem was I didn't have a clue which room was Anamaria's. There weren't that many to choose from, only about 4 or 5, but most of the doors were locked, and if there owners were within, I didn't fancy my chances at passing myself off as a room maid.  
  
Just as I thought this, a young woman came out of one of the rooms with a pile of clean linen in her arms. She jumped as she saw me and dropped the linen on the floor.  
  
You'll notice people have a habit of jumping and dropping things when they see me.  
  
She blushed a charming pink and bent to retrieve the bed sheets. Of course I went to help her.  
  
Once this was done, she stood up and smiled bashfully at me, and I thought _hello.  
  
_G..Good day sir. she said. She seemed genuinely shy, which isn't a quality many of Tortuga's woman can be accused of.  
  
Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. I said, wiggling my eyebrows. I took off my hat and made a sweeping bow.   
  
Sarah Browne. She giggled, blushing furiously again.  
  
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the broom cupboard and headed down the corridor to one of the smaller rooms at the back of the inn.  
  
I told Miss Sarah Browne that I was Anamaria's brother. Poor thing obviously wasn't too bright, or she may have noticed that Anamaria was black, and I was not.   
  
She was a sweet little thing though, and Jack Sparrow will never say no to a spot of canoodling in a cupboard.  
  
Anamaria's room was one of the more modest ones, whose windows opened out into the foliage of the palm trees growing on the slopes to the back of the inn.  
The door was unlocked, as Sarah said it always was, and I tutted as I walked through it. Silly girl Anamaria.  
  
Inside was a small bed and a table littered with papers. They were covered in the childlike scrawl of someone who's just learnt their letters. I should know, that's exactly how I write. Though I largely avoid situations that will call for note taking anyway.  
  
A chair, a change of clothes and a spare blanket were the only other items in the room.  
  
The rudder was nowhere to be found.  
  
I cursed and stamped my foot angrily.  
I'd been sure that Anamaria had hidden the rudder in her room. I mean, let's face it, apart from the initial deviousness of the idea, she hadn't been too careful so far, what with the not noticing a fat welsh man following her home and leaving her door unlocked.  
  
But there was no rudder here.  
  
Which left me in a tight spot. Tortuga was not a huge place, especially compared to the massive bulk of Hispaniola visible from the southern shores of the island. But there were still countless nooks and crannies were you could hide a rudder.  
  
Down at the docks, no matter who I questioned and how much gold I flashed their way, no one had seen nuthin guv'nor. Which was mightily suspicious, because Tortugans were the kind of people to lie out of their arses and say they'd seen something, anything, if gold was involved.  
  
Anamaria obviously held more sway with the regulars at the dock then I had thought. Well, she was pretty fierce.  
  
I went to pay my respects to the _Jolly Mon_ and whisper to her that soon she'd be with her rightful owner. I ignored the fact that the sails were conspicuously absent._   
  
_Anamaria glared haughtily at me, and I returned the favour.  
  
Something wrong? she asked casually.  
  
Nothing whatsoever. I replied.  
  
After a while, I tried again.  
Thought any more about our deal then? I asked cooly.  
  
I wasn't aware there was a deal. she answered nonchalantly.  
  
Fine by me. I said. Deal or no deal, you know I'll have this boat by the end of the week.  
  
So you'd resort to thieving? Anamaria asked.  
  
Um...._Pirate_. I felt like saying.  
  
From a poor defenceless woman? she continued.  
  
I snorted. _Her?_ I don't think anyone could ever describe Anamaria as a poor defenceless woman.  
  
Good day to you. I said, bowing mockingly.  
But walking away I couldn't help wonder what part of my beloved boat would be missing the next time I saw her.  
  
**TBC.....  
  
Next chapter - action and large quantities of rum, or so I'm told. Don't hold me to that.  
  
A slightly more pitiful Huzzah' from all the PotC fans living in the UK - the dvd is out on December the 5th for us, instead of the US release date of the 2nd, so my source, our friend the Admiral tells me.**


	6. Chivalry

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
**  
**Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a dodgy geezer like Jack Sparrow.   
  
Thank you so so very wondrously much for your reviews - they are such an encouragement and really make my day - and my days need making at the moment, because everything's a little bit stressful.  
  
It's nice to be reminded that the world isn't really full of people intent on making you feel small and worthless, and there is still kindness out there. I was beginning to think it had gone out of fashion or something.  
  
Chapter 6 - Chivalry  
  
**The oars.  
The oars were missing the next morning.  
  
Drastic measures were called for.  
  
I spent the whole day in a bush opposite where the _Jolly Mon_ was moored, never tearing my eyes from Anamaria and the boat.  
  
Well, except for a few minutes around midmorning when I popped out for something to drink.  
  
When I got back there was no bleeding centreboard, and my poor dear had been reduced to nothing but a floating hunk of wood.  
**  
**My anger was at such dizzying heights that I only took one sip of rum and put the bottle away in my coat pocket. I have very large pockets for just such a purpose. Besides, I was intent on stalking Anamaria and making sure she didn't mutilate my boat any further, and needed to be sober for this.   
Well, a degree of sobriety anyway.  
  
So I sit there all bleeding day right, bored out of my skull and desperately trying to resist the temptation to have a glug of the bottle of rum in my pocket. I had the sneaking suspicion that Anamaria knew I was watching. She seemed to take extraordinarily long amounts of time to do small tasks on the dock. I think I even saw her do the same thing two or three times, as though wasting time. Twice she left the boat for a second, and me, thinking the cost was clear, nearly lept out of the bushes. But she was always nearby, never letting the _Jolly Mon _out of her sights.  
Maybe she wasn't as careless, or naive, as I'd first thought.  
  
By sunset I had become quite comfortable in my little bush. I spend a lot of time in the undergrowth, I'm sure you've noticed. It was one of those big, rambling shrubs, with large pink flowers and sticky sap everywhere. Inside it was almost hollow, and perfect for skulking. There was only one easy way in and out that I'd found - trying to get in anywhere other than this tiny hidden gap would have half your skin and your eyes out on the sharp twigs.  
  
I made a mental note of the bushes whereabouts and where the concealed entrance was. This place would be handy for any time I had to sleep rough in Tortuga, which was more often than not. I was considering the possibility of constructing a little shack inside the hedge - just some kind of roof, maybe a tarpaulin would do, strung across the inside of the bush for when it rained. I could even clear a little space in the canopy for a chimney, for cold nights and cooking.   
  
I have to admit I got a bit caught up in the possibilities for my little den, and the _Jolly Mon_ left my mind for a while. When I looked back up and paid attention, the sun was going down and Anamaria was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Damn.  
  
What? I have a short attention span, if you must know.  
  
So mindless of my little entrance in and out of the bush, I tear my way through with a shriek of outrage.   
  
Well, partly it was outrage, and partly it was because those twigs are really sharp.  
  
My hair got a bit caught up in the branches for a while. Felt like I left half of it there when I finally ripped myself away.  
Luckily for me, when I came stumbling out I could just make out Anamaria, walking away from the dock back up to Courtesan bank.  
  
So naturally, I follow her. And I can tell you that this kind of thing does come naturally to me.  
  
Lucky I did really, though she still won't admit that I came in handy.  
  
I saw the blokes moving up behind her before she even knew they were there.   
  
Now, you might think this thing happens all the time in Tortuga, where there's no law except Pirate's code, and even then no one to enforce it - no one to answer back when someone says Yeah? Why don't you just come over ere and _make_ me.  
  
But you'd be surprised, because there _is_ honour among thieves after all.   
Well, sometimes.  
  
The thing is, sights like this are common enough to send almost any Tortugan who might be passing scurrying off and swearing they hadn't seen a thing.  
  
It was getting darker by the minute now as the sun set, and the men were no more than 5 shadows that detached themselves from the trees to the right of the road.  
  
Big shadows. Very big shadows.  
  
Now I've told you about Pirate's odds before, ain't I? They're not at all like Fool's odds. They're always against you, but coming out on top is what separates the cabin boys from Captains.  
  
The shadowy men circled Anamaria before she had a chance to leg it, and there was nothing for me to do but run like hell up the hill towards them.  
  
Here's a pretty one eh? The wind carried the leering voice down the hill towards me.  
A pretty hedge whore mate. laughed another.  
Yeah, what's the going rate luv, for the full works?  
  
Anamaria spat at the man and he lunged at her angrily as the others laughed. He'd wrestled her to the ground, before one of them signalled, and two men pulled him off her.  
  
Ain't that the one you were looking for? asked someone.  
  
One of the men nodded and spat on the floor like he had something nasty tasting in his mouth.  
  
That's the one. Alright Ana? You've been lying pretty low I hear.   
They all chuckled at this.  
  
Lucky for you I ain't been in Tortuga for a while. But now I'm back, and you owe me.  
  
Kennedy - I don't have any money so you can bugger off! she yelled angrily, picking herself up off the floor.  
  
I was still running, but too far away to do anything.  
  
Well then, I'll just have to take back my boat. That was the deal - no money, no boat.  
  
This made me really angry.   
_His _boat? _His_?!?  
_  
My _bloody boat!!  
  
I ran faster, and with an roar of outrage I jumped on Kennedy.  
  
Now, looking back, this probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. There were 5 of them, and 1 of me.   
And each of them were 2 times the size of me - and if you look at it that way I was actually facing about 10 men.  
  
Pirate's or Fool's odds? To this day I couldn't tell you.  
  
But really, what else could I have done?   
  
So there I am, looking a right fool, hanging on to Kennedy's back and trying to punch him in the face at the same time, which is damn hard I can tell you.   
I resorted to fighting like a girl.  
  
Don't tell Anamaria I said that. But it's true.  
  
I pulled his hair and gouged at his eyes. At one point I had my fingers up his nostrils and was pulling as hard as I could.  
  
Of course I wasn't on there long before his henchmen pulled me off and proceeded to beat me to a pulp.  
  
They left Anamaria alone though, so even afterwards when I felt like my face was falling off and my stomach and been kicked right through, I did feel rather proud.  
  
It was probably the only chivalrous thing I've ever done.  
  
**TBC..  
  
Sorry to leave it there. Is this a shorter chapter than usual? I don't know, but I wanted to leave something for the next, which I'm informed is the last chapter.   
  
To official ship's Barnacle Jackfan2 - thanks for your lovely reviews! It's so nice that I've been recommended by someone!   
  
Rat- Thankyou for recommending me! Ooh it's almost like I'm famous! As I understand it (though I'm probably wrong), Quartermaster's are in charge of all the supplies and stuff. We all have to be nice to you because you're in charge of doling out the rum. Except me, I don't have to be nice to anyone, because I'm Captain. Hehe. But I will be nice to you, or you might maroon me.  
  
Simply Sara -** **I'll get a pirate copy as long as the piracy in question is committed by Jack!  
  
  
Cal - Yes, Jack takes his profession seriously, and you can't be a pirate unless you drink rum and sleep around. But I must point out that he didn't actually get that far with the maid - just a bit of canoodling you know.   
It feels quite strange that I know these details  
  
Elderberry - Yes, rum in every chapter!  
  
Storm13/Sophie - french homework? Now Jack had nothing against the French, though their food doesn't agree with him, but unless you yourself are French, he wonders what right they have to be setting you homework eh?  
  
And to anyone else thankye, you've hearts of gold every last one of you and you may lay to that!**


	7. Hull down in the trail of rapture

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
**  
**Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a rascal like Jack Sparrow**  
  
**Jack's poem/song is from a poem that I found the other day in one of my Grandparent's books - it is called The Sea Gypsy' by Richard Hovey, and I hope he doesn't mind that I rewrote it and added another verse to stick on the end!**  
  
**You're in luck! This was going to be the last chapter - but then Jack remembered about poor old Taffy - and of course you all want to know more about him don't you?!? So there's probably one, maybe more to come.   
But even then this isn't the last you've heard of Captain Cunien - Jack Sparrow has a whole lifetime of tales to tell!**  
**(Well, that's if I don't get too distracted with life and Duncan from Monarch of the Glen tumbling down hills in his kilt in the new series. hmm...)**  
  
**Give me a present of a review? It's my birthday tomorrow!**  
  
**Chapter 7 - Hull down in the trail of rapture**  
  
Chivalrous.  
Yes, that's it. I like that.  
  
And it was that too, because they didn't bother Anamaria for money again, and the _Jolly Mon_ was safe.  
Do you know how this came about?  
  
Because the damned bilge rat bastards took _my_ gold.  
All of it.  
  
I suppose it's the price you pay for being a hero.  
  
So anyway, when I come round I'm in a bed - a strange feeling I can tell you.   
I haven't slept in a real bed for years.   
  
Then it got me to wondering who's bed it was.  
  
I rasped, and then changed my mind -   
  
A worried face loomed over me. I realised it was Anamaria's bed, which made me smile.   
  
But not for long because it hurt like hell and made my nose bleed again.  
  
I reached up and touched the swollen mess.  
  
My face. My beautiful, beautiful face. I croaked  
I think I was delirious.  
  
Anamaria sat down heavily on the bed. She seemed to have thought that I was going to die. Ha. Captain Jack Sparrow ain't that easy to kill luv!  
She cursed me using language that would have made my mother blush, had she not been such a swearing strumpet herself.  
  
So, who were those very big men then eh? I asked.  
She glared at me and told me to mind my own business, but after a few minutes of silence she spoke up.  
  
Kennedy, silly Irish bastard. Him and his crew attacked the ship that...that we were sailing over to the Caribbean on.  
  
From where? I was confused.  
  
From Africa you fool! When I was a child, they came and took everyone in my village to work in the sugar plantations.   
  
She seemed embarrassed, though I couldn't fathom why. It had never occurred to me that she wasn't native to the Spanish Main. I hadn't really thought about it to be honest.  
  
I asked.  
  
No - we _begged_ them to shackle us and shove us in a stinking hold to sail across the ocean for a life of hardship. You idiot.  
  
Kennedy took the ship off the coast of Brazil, and now he seems to think I owe him.  
  
And the _Jolly Mon_?   
  
Sold her to me, for a hefty price. The deal was done, and 2 weeks later he comes back asking for more money. She scowled darkly, and I found myself pitying Kennedy, the man who had just beaten me to within and inch of my life. I knew if Anamaria ever got the chance to follow through on that scowl she wouldn't hesitate.  
  
I tried to heave myself up on my elbows. I didn't like lying down like this with Anamaria towering over me. I felt vulnerable.  
  
But my chest felt like a cannonball had gone through it.   
  
I think I may have broken a rib or two. I said, rather weakly I have to admit.  
  
So Anamaria puts her hand on my forehead and pushes me back down onto the bed, which I don't like at all. See when it comes down to it, it's normally me that does the pushing down on to the bed bit. And even when it's the other way round I don't mind so much, because I know in the end it's just playing ain't it?   
  
But this wasn't. She pushed me back down and there was no way in hell I could've got up again. I don't like someone taking charge like that when I know I can't defend myself.  
  
I began to regret some of the rash words I'd said to Anamaria over the past few days.  
  
She started poking my chest, which made me yell. By now I'm feeling about as uncomfortable as I possibly can, and more than a little afraid. I'm not ashamed. There aren't many situations where you could rightly say Captain Jack Sparrow was afraid.   
  
Now me, I've been in battles a-plenty, at sea or on land.  
I've been stuck in the middle of the ocean, miles from salvation, with hatred and mutiny in the eyes of my crew. I've watched _my_ ship sail away, shrinking to nothing, hearing the laughter floating back at me as I sit on a godforsaken sand bank in the middle of the ocean.   
  
And I've taken it. Never complained. Never cried or ranted or raved.   
  
I've stood at the gallows, even had the trapdoor pulled from beneath my feet and fallen those few inches, wondering if my neck would snap like a piece of dry kindling or if I'd be slowly strangled.  
  
And even when it looked like old Jack had finally met his end, I felt nothing stronger than a curiosity at what came next.  
  
But here I am, lying in a bed, feeling _scared_. I can hardly move and there's someone beside me who I don't entirely trust and who has complete and total control over me right now.  
  
And I realise that I'm in my underclothes.  
  
If I'm going to be stripped naked, all I ask is that I'm conscious at the time. That's not unreasonable now, is it ?  
  
So now I'm feeling afraid _and _self-conscious. Well there's a first time for everything I suppose.  
  
After poking around some more, Anamaria said, Hmm. Well Kennedy and his men are certainly thorough - I don't think they've left you even one intact rib.  
  
And just what were you doing while those thugs were wiping the floor with me, eh? I accused, trying to pull up the sheets to cover a little more of my almost nakedness.  
  
Are you mad!? Let boys be boys says I.  
  
So you just stood there and watched?! I asked incredulously.  
  
Anamaria nodded. Why should I have rushed in? she said in reply.  
  
I don't believe it! If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have had a choice! I yelled.  
  
What do you mean by that? You think you're some white knight rushing in to save the damsel in distress?! I didn't need you to rescue me you know!  
  
I sat up, heedless of the pain, but noticed that as Anamaria was sitting on the bed sheet, pushing myself to an upright position only exposed a bit too much of myself.  
  
Oh swallow that pride before you choke on it woman! I saved your life, you saved mine, and now all is right with the world. I sighed, too exhausted to carry on arguing.  
  
Cover yourself up. Anamaria scowled, and I ripped the sheet from under her to draw it up around my neck.  
  
Happy now? I asked.  
  
You're in my bed, how happy is that supposed to make me? And you're bleeding on my sheets. she pointed out.  
  
Give me some damned rum. I spat, and she shoved the bottle at me angrily.  
  
Half of it was gone. I distinctly remember only taking a sip before. I eyed Anamaria and she looked back at me as if to say, Yeah? What?.  
  
After a quantity or rum, the pain receded to nothing and I stopped feeling vulnerable and self-conscious. That was a momentary slip I assure you. Like I've always said, the human body is a beautiful thing, and mine more than most. I'm not ashamed at all. I just didn't like the fact that I was naked against my will.  
  
Anamaria sat on the floor and watched me drink for a while, scowling, and I gave her the bottle. Have some you grump. She obliged and I smiled. There you go.  
  
After a while, Anamaria fished out another bottle of rum from somewhere, as we were making short work of the first. Well, it didn't take much for me as I was already weak on account of recently being set upon by 5 very big men.  
  
We started talking, and I told her about my sea adventures with the _Pearl._  
  
So once we'd careened her right, we got to work cleaning the hull cos there were barnacles and worms all over the shop. And the cabin boy right, is up in the rigging as look out. The problem is, he might as well be bloody blind for all the looking out he can do. He only had one working eye - a wooden ball in the other!  
  
Anamaria laughed  
  
So we hear this Sail ho! right, and sure enough, there's a bloody naval frigate heading towards our little bay, 6 miles off and closing fast, bristling with guns!  
  
What did you do?! she asked eagerly.  
  
Well the men had grumbled like hell, but I'd got them to move the guns up onto the cliffs either side, and some on the beach.  
  
  
  
And we sunk her before she'd fired two shots at us!  
  
You sound like a wonderful Captain said Anamaria, taking another swig of rum, So how did it all go wrong?  
  
Went soft didn't I? I said, Or I always was soft. Trust - man's biggest weakness. Never trust _no one_ Anamaria. _No one_.  
  
I thought this was warning enough, looking back. If that's not a sporting chance I don't know what is.  
  
In telling her the tale of how I lost the _Pearl_, it suddenly seemed so hilarious we were soon rolling around with laughter, and I got all tangled up in the sheets and fell off the bed.  
  
I blacked out for a few moments, and then Anamaria helped me up and we were soon laughing our heads off once more. My nose had started gushing again when I fell out of bed, and that made us laugh harder.   
  
Bloody hell! I never bloody realised I had so much bloody blood in me! I wheezed.  
  
But after a while, with my nose still spouting blood she had to prop me against the wall and put my head between my legs.  
  
I felt quite sick.  
  
We sat there in silence for while, the drink taking it's toll. But I took another swig anyway, when I finally managed to persuade my hand to bring the bottle up to my lips. I've never known when to stop.  
  
So bring me that horizon... I sighed.  
What's that? mumbled Anamaria.  
  
A song.  
  
It's funny ain't it? Sometimes when you're drunk, you'd be hard pressed to remember your name, but the smallest most banal details make it through the haze.  
  
Tell me it? she asked, resting her head on my shoulder. It hurt but I wasn't about to tell her that. It was nice.  
  
I couldn't remember the tune anymore, and even if I had, it was hard enough to talk, let alone sing, so I recited it like a poem.  
  
I am fevered with the sunset  
I am fretful with the bay,  
For the wander-thirst is on me  
And my soul has gone away.  
  
There's a schooner in the offing  
With her topsails shot with flame,  
And my heart has gone aboard her  
With desire I cannot tame.  
  
'ss lovely. she breathed. Is there more?  
  
I must forth again to-morrow!  
With the sunset I must dwell,  
Hull down in the trail of rapture   
In the open ocean swell.  
  
So bring me that horizon,   
Bring the sunset forth to me,   
I will perish here on land  
For my soul is with the sea.  
  
I remember a man singing it to me when I was a lad - could've been my Dad. Dunno. We lived in the middle of the countryside. I couldn't fathom what it meant, til I went away to sea.  
  
Now you know what it means. Anamaria said.  
  
I did, and I knew she did too.   
She knew that's why I mourned the loss of my _Pearl_ so, and I knew it was why she was down at the dock every hour of every day with the _Jolly Mon_.  
  
After a while I thought Anamaria had gone to sleep. My eyes were beginning to close slowly - partly because I was tired and partly because they were beginning to swell.   
Being punched in the face will sometimes do that to you.  
  
But just as I was beginning to drift off, I was jolted back. Anamaria's head was shaking and she was gasping for breath.   
  
I thought she was crying which scared me. Crying women is not something I do well. If she wasn't a woman I would just slap her and scream Snap out of it man! into her face. But that ain't gentlemanly behaviour towards a lady, is it?  
  
Not that I could ever be accused of being a gentleman.  
  
But to my immense relief, I realised she was laughing, not crying.  
  
This made me laugh too. My head was spinning and I was hurting all over, but the world seemed the most amusing place right then.  
  
The rudder! she gasped. And the sails! The oars, the centreboard!  
  
I said, trying to urge her on without being too obvious. My head snapped back into a reasonable state of sobriety at this, and my heart began pumping so hard I thought she'd feel it.  
  
I hid them!  
  
says I. Careful now Jack, careful...  
  
And I went to so much trouble - I had to hire a rowboat and everything, to get to the cave you know!  
  
I didn't know there were any caves in Tortuga? I lied. Of course there are bloody caves in Tortuga - there are hundreds! Some no wider than 2 feet, some as big as houses. Some that go so far back into the cliff that you think they'll never end, and some that are barely deep enough to shelter a man.  
I didn't know there were any caves in Tortuga?' - what the hell is that!? Couldn't I think of a better lie? I'm ashamed of myself.  
  
But Anamaria was obviously too drunk to notice this massive great whopping give-away.  
  
Ah but you wouldn't know about this one. It's ssecret. she whispered, putting her finger up to her lips in a pantomime hush.  
  
Mile to the east of the harbour a river.. comes down to the ocean, and the cliffs are.. big..big cliffs. she hiccuped.  
I urged, putting aside all pretence.  
  
She yawned, barely staying awake now.  
  
That's where they are? In a cave? What does it look like, how big is it? I asked.  
  
Big cave. she said. Can only get to it by boat, next to the dark rocks.  
  
Oh, I think I love you Anamaria.  
  
**TBC...  
  
Don't get too excited now Jack/Ana fans - it's a figure or speech! Though I am a firm Jack/Ana campaigner. Just not here.   
  
Khepri - As long as you're laughing *with* me, and not *at* me, eh?  
  
Storm13/Safria** - **Storm13/Safria - ahh now biology! Jack thoroughly approves of biology - lots of intricate details about the human body - brilliant! **  
  
**Orcagirl - Thanking you kindly. There will be another one coming after this story is completed too. I think.  
  
Loyal Quartermaster Rat - Yes, and be liberal with the old rum eh luv? I never break a promise, and now I'm famous can I go into restraunts and say Don't you _know_ who I am?! in an imperious tone? Please?  
  
First matey Simply Sara- Thanking you kindly my dear, thanking you kindly. Here's a slightly longer chapter for you! Thanks for reviewing after your review troubles! Persevere!  
  
Bosun Cal - Tacky innuendoes? Yes, I'm sure that one crossed Jack's mind too. In answer to your question - I wonder what Jack would've done regarding Ana had those toughs not shown their ugly mugs?' - he probably would've jumped her himself. But in a nicer way. And he would never have called her a hedge whore'- a strumpet' maybe, but nothing more. Your gift of rum worked - Jack has more tale to tell yet! Thankyou for your kind review, really. You spoil me. (But it really makes my day, my week, my month, especially after a bad day!)  
And it's not just when being chivalrous - Jack often forgets to think with his head, opting instead for another, more insistent, body part.**


	8. Come Uppance

**A boat with my name on it - **by Cunien  
  
**Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.  
**  
**Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a diamond in the rough like Jack Sparrow**  
  
**In answer to anyone who believes Jack has acted and is acting like a dog in this fic - I agree, and my little heart is breaking at having to write it. BUT, and the capital letters show that it is a very big but', to write Captain Jack Sparrow any other way would be grievously out of character. I mean...Pirate!! This is how I see Jack anyway. He's out for himself in the long run, maybe feeling the odd twinge of guilt along the way, but nothing more. As in instances such as rescuing' Anamaria from Kennedy and his men, no matter what he says, I _know_ that his motives weren't purely selfish. But I wouldn't ask anything more from him, unless you don't mind being sorely disappointed.  
Sorry. Had to be said.**  
**  
Thanks for the birthday greetings! Here's hoping 19 treats me better than 18!  
  
Thankyou everyone for being nice. This is the last of this particular tale.  
I know this isn't as good as Ah, the memories!', but it was fun to write, and I hope it hadn't disappointed.  
  
Chapter 8 - Come Uppance**  
  
It took me roughly an hour to get Anamaria off me, gently so as not to wake her, get dressed and leave the room.  
  
Then another 30 minutes to get down the stairs.  
  
Luckily the lovely maid Sarah Browne found me prostrate ten steps from the bottom and helped me down, though not before a great deal of fussing and faffing around. I was in no mood for this, but couldn't sum up the energy to do anything about it to be honest.  
  
So I know there's no chance that I can get around to Taffy's - it was hard enough when I was in perfect health. Right now, broken bruised and still bleeding all over the shop, I didn't have a hope in hell.  
  
So I made my very slow way down to the docks.  
  
It was about an hour from dawn. I knew Taffy would be down not long after the sun had risen, but I wasn't entirely sure I could stay conscious till then.  
  
I thought about going to the bush and having a little shut-eye there. The problem was that if I did I couldn't promise I'd wake up in time to catch Taffy, and before the booze wore off and Anamaria brought down her terrible wrath upon me. I was hoping to be at least 10 miles away by then. Though I wasn't sure if even that would be far enough.  
  
If you wrong a girl like Anamaria she'll hunt you down if she has to wander the earth for the rest of her life. Take it from me - I've wronged a lot of women in my time.  
  
So down at the dock, I sit beside Taffy's little stock of ramshackle row boats for sale and wait. I've taken out my pistol right, and I'm just sitting there, shaking like a leaf and pointed it at the darkness expecting Anamaria to come leaping out at me with an un-godly shriek at any moment.  
  
I'd just like to make it clear that I wasn't shaking from fear. I was feeling a little grotty right then, as I'm sure anyone would if they'd had the 24 hours that I'd just had. The rum was wearing off and I was feeling like I'd just been keel-hauled across the hull of a boat that hadn't been careened for a century, and was home to the world's population of barnacles.   
Big, spiky barnacles.  
  
But I must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing I know Taffy's looking down at me in shock and slight disgust and poking me tentatively with a stubby finger.  
  
I opened one eye and glared at him. He jumped back, looking terrified. I was aiming for an aggressive look, but the truth was that I only had the strength to open one eye.  
  
Iesu Grist! He gasped and crossed himself. What in heaven has been happening to you?!  
  
I am not... in the mood.. to talk about it..right now. I managed, through a mouth that felt like it was packed with sand.  
  
He was leaning over me, so I reached up and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tugged him closer.  
  
Get..me a boat. I muttered, Any bloody boat. Then help me in it, and row me...1 mile east, along the coast.  
  
He looked horrified. As he often does.  
  
Hop to it. I ordered.  
  
And he did. He was remarkably quick.   
Or maybe I blacked out for a while.   
Whatever the case, I found myself being dumped as carefully as Taffy could manage, but still unceremoniously into the puddle of water at the bottom of a leaky bucket of a row boat.  
  
I hate row boats.  
  
But Taffy rowed for me, so at least I could just sit back and rest my eyes a while.  
  
I gave the little Welshman Anamaria's directions and let him do the rest.   
The motion of the waves comforted me, and I lay down in the bottom of the boat, feeling the warm sun on my face and the warm bilge water soak into my clothes.  
  
I felt better already.  
  
I thought about what I was going to do if I could pull this one off and make good my escape with the _Jolly Mon_. I would have to change the plan a little, obviously, but thinking on his feet is Jack Sparrow's forte ain't it? There was no way I was in a fit state to go to Port Royal at the moment. Even if I could get all the way from Tortuga to Jamaica, you need to be on your toes if you're a pirate in Port Royal.  
  
No, it could wait a while. All I needed to do right now was get as far away from Anamaria as I could. I needed to sail the comparatively small distance to Hispaniola, find a nice little bush, get the _Jolly Mon _in there and lie low for a day or two until I was feeling a little more meself.  
  
Easier said than done though, eh?  
  
But don't be forgetting who's the hero of this tale, old Captain Jack Sparrow. And when my little heart's set on something you'd have to move heaven and earth to stop me. I'd get the boat, sail to the nearby island of Hispaniola and drag that boat into the trees if it took me a week.  
  
Well, that's if Anamaria didn't catch me before then.  
  
So Taffy's puffing and gasping, rowing away, and I'm thinking that I'm doing him a favour - helping him get a little much needed exercise.  
  
But he clears his throat and I get up as carefully as I can, and look at the cliffs near where out sad little leaky boat is bobbing around.  
  
There were big strips of dark rocks, like folds in the cliff face, leading down into the water.  
  
We rowed on a little, or Taffy did anyway, and we came around the corner to find a tiny sandy cove where a small stream reached the sea. On the other side of the beach, the cliff's rose up once more, and it was here we found the cave.  
  
Two folds of dark rock, each as wide as a man was tall, ran down the cliff side by side. Down nearer the water they separated and the cave hollowed out between them, the dark rock like a massive archway above.  
  
I knew this was it. Even if this wasn't the only cave in sight, I knew Anamaria would have chosen this one - it was dramatic, and if there's one thing the ladies like it's drama.  
  
Now don't be looking at me like that. I can see all the men nodding and ladies clucking and shaking their heads but it's all true. I've know a lot of ladies in my time, from every walk of life, and while everyone was as varied and different to the last one as was possible, they all had one thing in common - a romantic constitution.  
  
Of course that particular affliction isn't confined to females alone. Oh no. Just look at William Turner and you'll see what I mean.  
  
I can see the light of understanding dawning in your eyes now eh? Haha. There we go.   
  
So this was the cave, and I told Taffy so.  
  
This is the cave. says I, and he rowed us over there.   
  
It was tricky negotiating the black rocks sticking their heads up through the waves. The swell kept pushing us over towards them and threatening to smash our poor little row boat against the cliffs.  
  
We were wasting precious time. We had to get the sail, the rudder, centreboard, oars - the very limbs of the boat - and get back to Tortuga in time to sail off into the sunset before Anamaria woke. Or things would get messy. Very messy indeed.  
  
With this thought sounding like a 12 gun salute in my head I pushed aside the pain and wrestled the oars off the panicked Taffy, the lubber.  
  
I soon had the boat in the cave and managed to beach her on the little sandy ledge. Taffy hopped out, obviously glad to be on solid ground once more, and helped me out. I felt and moved like a old man.  
  
This particular cave was as big as a house, and I noted it's whereabouts because, like the bush from before, it would make quite a nice hide-out should the occasion call for such a thing.  
  
Which, me being Captain Jack Sparrow, it often does.  
  
Anyway, it goes quite far back this cave, dwindling into the darkness. But there's no need to go all that far, because within a few metres of the high tide mark, lashed securely to the rocks, are all the paraphernalia that my _Jolly Mon_ required.  
  
I just want to make it clear that I fell to my knees then not out of relief or anything. I was just feeling a little shaky.  
  
Within ten minutes we'd loaded everything onto the boat and were rowing as fast as we could back to Tortuga. Well, I say we' but really it was just Taffy.  
  
But by the time we rounded the cliff and Tortuga's port loomed into view I was having bloody kittens and resorted to paddling along with my own hands in an attempt to get there faster.  
  
We reached the jetty, coming up right beside the _Mon_, and I jumped out, even though every square inch of my body swore vehemently at me for doing so.  
  
So with fumbling fingers I undo the mooring ropes and tie them tightly onto the back of Taffy's little row boat, I grab the oars and together we're off!  
  
It was easy.  
Too easy.  
  
We made a push to round the corner, and pass out of sight behind the cliffs to the east of the port as fast as we could.  
  
And there she was, like I knew she would be.  
  
My arms were hurting like hell, so I paused for a minute and let Taffy do the hard work for once. I turned to get one last glance at the dock.  
  
Anamaria was walking carefully down to the sea, her head stiff and high as though she were balancing a bottle of rum on top of it. She winced and I could almost feel the sympathy pains of the pounding headache she was sure to be experiencing.  
  
Oh no. They weren't sympathy pains. That was my own head.  
  
She looked up and right at me for a second before she realised what she was seeing.  
  
I had to turn away.  
The fury and betrayal on her face was just so painful - like the waves of hatred could somehow cross the distance between us and strike me stone dead.  
  
Hurry hurry. I screamed at Taffy as Anamaria's own screams reached me.  
  
They seemed to reverberate around the cliffs and echo on and on - they followed us up the coast.  
  
We reached the spit of land called the Devil's finger, pointing out towards Hispaniola. It was the closest to the bigger island, and it was here that we transferred the various bits and bobs to the _Jolly Mon_.   
  
I put the centreboard in, and the rudder, set the sails and parted company with poor Taffy, who waved amiably - obviously glad to be rid of me but obviously not realising yet that it was he who had to return to Tortuga. And Anamaria.  
  
I felt better already. The breeze was picking up and just being in my fully reassembled boat made me feel so good I felt like singing. So I did. The _Jolly Mon_ handled perfectly and was a dream to sail - which was good, because seeming as I'd never sailed her before, it would be a bit of a let down if, after all this she was little better than a leaky bucket.  
  
The rest of the day was uneventful. I was worried about Anamaria commandeering a boat and coming after me like some avenging spirit, but at the same time I couldn't rush it and end up killing myself somewhere between Tortuga and Hispaniola. It wasn't that far but it felt like a hundred miles with my aching arms.   
And head.   
And legs.   
And everything else you care to mention, and some you'd care not to.  
  
When I got to the deserted shores of Hispaniola I was as sick and tired as a dog.  
I didn't know who owned the damned place right then, the Spanish or the French, as it was so hard to keep up. But I didn't give a fig, and was just pleased that there was no one around.  
  
I managed to drag the boat up the shore a little and hide her in the trees. Luckily the beaches along the island's Northern coast were long thin things, and it wasn't far to go before the dense palm trees and nice bushes had swallowed us up.   
  
I slept in the _Jolly Mon_, not wanting to leave her. If Anamaria found us she'd have to evict me bodily.  
  
So I lay there and slept like a baby for a day and a night.   
When I woke up again, the sun was rising and I felt all fresh and new born.  
  
Well, I mean I still felt like shit, but a damn sight better than before.  
  
So I got up and filled the boat with as much food as I could find, drank some rum that I'd lifted from Taffy while we were in the boat together, and set off.  
  
I sailed right around, hugging the cliffs and keeping a weather eye out for anything vaguely Anamaria-like. I reached a tiny seaside village by night- fall and stayed there for a while to recuperate. I can't remember it's name - like I said, the place changes hands so often it's hard to tell if it's a Puerto or a Port or something entirely different.  
  
The place's inhabitants didn't seem to have much of a clue either. They wandered round in a sort of confused daze. I speak a bit of French and Spanish but frankly can't be arsed to most of the time, when english and mime is so much easier.   
  
The people seemed pleased to see an outsider and exchanged perfectly good rum and food and water for news, some of which was real and some of which I made up. I told them the island had fallen back into Spanish hands because they'd been nice to me and I felt as if I owed them. It was a lie but that wasn't the point. They seemed happy to have a definite answer, and as I left two weeks later almost every building was flying a Spanish flag above it's roof.  
  
It was good sailing. I had rum and food. The sun was shining and I sang as loud as I could most days as I sailed.  
  
I never felt truly at ease though - the shadow of Anamaria still fell on me and the _Mon_.   
  
But as Port Royal came into view I heaved a sigh of relief, because I'd actually gotten away with it.  
  
About a mile from shore I noticed the water sloshing round in the bottom of the boat.  
  
I said Now this wasn't here before.   
  
And it wasn't.  
  
Because Anamaria hadn't just taken the rudder, the centreboard, the sails and the oars. Oh no.   
  
She'd taken the little wooden peg in the hull.  
  
A small bit of oiled cloth had been wadded up and pushed in to block the hole, obviously only meant to keep the boat afloat while she sat in Tortuga's dock. Anamaria knew that I wouldn't notice, and that if the _Mon_ was taken out into the open ocean she wouldn't stay afloat long.  
  
With this realisation all guilt I may have felt about taken Anamaria's boat fled like a sudden squall.  
  
That....devious....sneaky..underhanded...._woman_!!!  
  
I was surprised and rather proud that the thing had managed to stay afloat this long, as if it was personal snub against Anamaria.  
  
But I was a little bit proud of her too, to be honest. I'd taken her for a naive chit of a girl. I told her to trust _no one_ and ended up not falling for it all myself. I underestimated her.  
  
And I suppose I have her to thank, because I got the entrance I wanted.  
After all it was the reason I wanted Anamaria's boat in the first place.  
  
Because they'll remember the man who sailed in to Port Royal in the most ridiculously small sailing boat ever to put to sea, standing proudly atop it's mast as it sank slowly and gloriously beneath the tide.  
  
They'll remember the man who sailed in on the _Jolly Mon.  
_  
**THE END.  
  
Hehe.  
Sorry about the lame ending. Also I always seem to miss typos when reading on the computer, and my printer isn't working so I haven't been over it with a fine tooth comb! I'm sure you can make heads and tails of it....can't you?!  
  
Right - as soon as I can manage it there will be another fic winging it's way to you, if you'll take it, titled (at the moment) All creatures great and small', another first person about young Jack and how he came to be a pirate. And also about his lifelong feud with donkeys.  
  
Thanks to -  
Rat - pie sounds nice. Thanks for your gifts of lovely reviews and recommending me!  
  
First Matey Sara - Thanks to you too little lady - the salty seadog style happy birthday and your constant support and kindness. And of course the inspiration for the story to begin with. I know this isn't as good as Ah, the memories!', but it was fun to write, and I hope it hadn't disappointed.  
  
Cal - that has to be the longest review I've ever _seen_ let alone that's been written for a fic of mine! Thankyou so much!  
By the way - is the new hat you're sending me big? With lacy trimming and buckles and ostrich feathers and the like? I'll have to hide it from the Man in my hat then. lol.  
  
Kingleby- I'm glad, as a Jack/Ana fan you can see that this isn't that kind of story, but still enjoy it. Thankyou!  
  
Rae Roberts - glad you got the Muppet's Treasure Island bit. A veritable goldmine of pirate info!  
  
And to anyone else who reviewed and/or enjoyed this - thankyou so much, may the wind always be at your backs and sun on your face. But not in your eyes.   
And if you find yourself alone, riding through green fields with the sun on your face, do not be afraid, for you are in Elysium....um........... ...wrong film. Got a bit carried away.   
Sorry.  
I'm sad now.**


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